


Spark of Hope

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chocolate Box Treat, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode Tag, F/F, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing Clothes, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: After helping rescue Cheryl from Sweetwater River, Veronica brings her to the Pembrooke to comfort her.





	Spark of Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saiditallbefore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/gifts).



> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit ideas or just talk Riverdale.

Since the moment Archie hauled Cheryl out of the icy water of the river, Veronica had glued herself to Cheryl’s side. She’d hooked an arm around her shoulders and sat beside her in the backseat of the Cooper station wagon, murmuring to her soothingly and rubbing her arms to restore her circulation. 

“We’ve got to get your blood going again,” she declared, moving her hands in circles against Cheryl’s skin. 

As she leaned in close to her, the fur of her coat—probably rabbit, judging by its softness—tickled Cheryl’s face. But Cheryl sat still, as it didn’t seem important in that moment to move away.   

Every one of Cheryl’s movements was now sluggish and slow, operating on a lagging autopilot rather than her making any kind of conscious decision. She felt as though her body and brain had separated, her mind now displaced and stuck someplace else. Maybe it was back at the river, drowning as Jason reached out for her, or maybe it was watching his murder replay on her laptop screen over and over again—that would certainly explain why the images were endlessly flashing before her eyes. 

Or maybe she’d been a ghost this whole time and just hadn’t realized it. Maybe Daddy dearest had killed her alongside Jason and dumped them both in Sweetwater River. Together in birth, together in death. It would be fitting for the two of them—she’d certainly thought so not even an hour earlier.

When Betty dropped them off at the Pembrooke, Veronica quickly ushered her inside, pausing only to hurriedly speak to the doorman before pulling her through the entryway. Veronica’s hand was warm as she tugged her into the apartment, her touches a relief to Cheryl’s chilled skin and a distraction from her dark thoughts.

“So, this is my house,” Veronica said with a sweep of her arm, gesturing to the main hall of the Pembrooke. Clearly, she was trying for some semblance of normality, but it wasn’t her main focus: she was steering Cheryl in one particular direction even as she spoke.

As brief and unnecessary as the explanation was, her words were an anchor, dragging Cheryl back to reality, forcing her to focus on the now. While she had been aware of Veronica’s presence the entire time, it wasn’t until she was being led through the gleaming white halls, a sharp contrast to the dark, shadowy halls at Thornhill, that it truly registered in her mind that Veronica was still holding her close. Though somewhat discomfited—no one ever touched her, really, not beyond River Vixens routines and her occasional hookups—she didn’t fight it, instead letting herself being mutely led into the bedroom and have large fluffy towels wrapped around her torso and shoulders. 

Moving carefully and gently, with a kindness most people didn’t bother using around Cheryl, Veronica guided her to sit on the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, looking at Cheryl directly and speaking decisively, obviously trying to be as open and reassuring as possible. “I just need to grab some stuff from my mom’s closet. I don’t know that any of my clothes would fit you.”

“Fine.” It was the first word Cheryl had spoken since being pulled from the water. It sounded harsh and grating as it left her throat.

Veronica gave Cheryl’s shoulder a squeeze before walking over to the doorway and pausing to turn and look back at her. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promised again, and then vanished into the hall.

It wasn’t until Veronica had left the room that Cheryl realized just how much her presence had filled it, breathing life and energy into the atmosphere. With her gone, the room seemed much emptier and impossibly lonelier.

Cheryl tightened the towel around her shoulders, huddling in on herself. She didn’t want to be alone anymore, but she’d been so since Jason had died.

True to her word, Veronica didn’t take very long, returning to the room with a pair of sweats and a long-sleeve t-shirt.

“It’s nothing fancy,” she said, laying the items on the bed beside Cheryl and walking over to her armoire. “Just clothes my mom uses for working out. But I figured you wouldn’t mind comfy clothes at the moment.”

Ordinarily, Cheryl would take the opportunity to make a snide comment about Hermione Lodge’s  excessively gauche and nouveau riche taste in fashion. And though it occurred to her she should at least give some kind of attempt at snark in order to keep up appearances, she could find neither the desire nor the words. Instead, she simply sat as Veronica brought over a glossy square box, undoing the ribbon ties and pulling off the lid.

“It’s underwear, all new, from a trunk show back in Manhattan,” she explained, the tissue paper crinkling under her fingers as she folded it back. “It’s all sporty stuff: sports bras, boyshorts, that type of thing. But if you’d like something else—”

“No.” Though Cheryl typically wouldn’t have cared about interrupting anyone, a faint pang of guilt struck her at abruptly cutting off Veronica, but she was driven by the abrupt urge to shed her wet clothes as soon as possible. “This is fine. I’m going to change.” Suddenly, she couldn’t stand the thought of remaining in her white dress any longer; her stomach roiled at the thought.

Veronica nodded understandingly. “I can leave,” she offered, beginning to stand. 

Cheryl waved a hand dismissively, a gesture that had see plenty of practice throughout the years. “Don’t bother. We all change in the same locker room for cheer practice, anyway.”

Standing, she tossed aside the two towels and then shucked off all of her clothing, exhaustion crashing over her as she did. All at once, every muscle in her body was protesting with weariness, commanding her to lie down and rest. But she kept moving, tugging on a sports bra and a pair of cherry red boyshorts, and then slipping on the pants and shirt afterward. Veronica brought her over a pair of cushy socks and cozy slippers, and Cheryl sat back down on the bed to put them on as well. 

As she did, her long hair flopped down in front of her face, and Cheryl roughly shoved it back. It was only a temporary fix, though, as within seconds her hair once again swung forward to slap limply against her cheek. Cheryl pushed it behind her ear again and pulled on the second slipper just as her hair fell back in her face.

Fury suddenly bursting to the surface, Cheryl threaded her fingers through the strands and gave her own hair a vicious yank. Disgust and frustration overwhelmed her when her fingers met tangled dampness rather than its typical sleekness, so she gave her hair another yank and then another and another—

“Cheryl!” Veronica grabbed her hands, forcing them down at her side. 

Cheryl snapped her head up to look at her, prepared to spit some kind of insult, but any anger drained as quickly as it had come when she saw the plain worry on Veronica’s face. There was no malice or spite, just concern—an emotion few bothered to waste on her. And even Cheryl couldn’t fight with honest care.

Defeated, she slumped back, staring down at the floor. “My hair is a mess,” she said quietly, hating how small and pathetic her own voice sounded.

Veronica sat down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and gripping her tightly. “Okay. Okay.” She drew in a deep breath, and Cheryl realized it was the first sign of uncertainty the other girl had demonstrated since bringing her home.

But it didn’t last long. Veronica grabbed one of the towels and then tugged her up to stand. They briefly stopped by her dressing table to retrieve a wide-toothed comb and a luxuriously-packaged bottle of leave-in conditioner before Veronica guided her back into the hall.

“We’ll comb out your hair in here,” she told Cheryl as they moved into the living room. “Smithers built us a fire, and sitting front of it will help you warm up.”

Sure enough, a fire was crackling cheerily, and Veronica helped Cheryl sit in a great armchair right by the hearth. Tucking a blanket around her shoulders, she then fixed the towel on top, pulling Cheryl’s hair out from beneath so it could be sure to dry. She wrapped Cheryl’s hands around a waiting mug of hot chocolate before taking a seat beside her, so close that Cheryl could feel the heat radiating off of her body.

“I’m going to start with your hair,” she said softly, her breath tickling Cheryl’s ear. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Cheryl repeated mindlessly. She didn’t have the strength left to do anything more. 

With careful movements, Veronica liberally spritzed Cheryl’s hair with the conditioner spray and then began painstakingly combing through the long strands. Her hands moved up and down, nudging against Cheryl’s back, but in no way did Cheryl mind. Instead, she closed her eyes, relaxing somewhat at the calming touches, enjoying the feeling of the comb’s teeth pressing against her scalp. The soft pricks let tension escape from her coiled muscles, almost like a massage. With the combination of the warmth of the fire and the comforting weight of the blanket, as well as Veronica’s tender handling, she felt enveloped in calm. She felt  _ safe _ , something she hadn’t experienced since Jason disappeared. 

She didn’t know how long she sat there, but she wished it could have been forever, staying there in the cozy living room, Veronica pressing against her and treating her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. 

But all too soon, Veronica announced, “All done,” and set down the comb, lifting the towel off of Cheryl’s shoulders. And just as Cheryl was gathering her resolve to wade her way through the disappointment she knew would settle over her, Veronica leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

The kiss wasn’t intense or passionate, only a quick peck, but nonetheless, Cheryl froze. Almost no one touched her anymore, not with Jason dead. Her parents had never been particularly affectionate. And certainly no one kissed her, not without wanting something in return.

Ever perceptive, Veronica noticed right away. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, resting a hand on Cheryl’s back. Cheryl was grateful for the weight of it. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I was just—”  

“Would you do that again?” Cheryl swallowed, a tight lump suddenly rising in her throat. She turned to look at Veronica, too desperate to be embarrassed by the pleading in her voice and the tears she could feel welling in her eyes. “Please?”

Veronica hesitated, looking taken aback. “Cheryl, I don’t—”  

_ “Please,”  _ Cheryl begged. “No one just kisses me. No one.”

A few second passed where Veronica seemed to struggle with herself, but then she gave in. 

“All right,” she agreed.

Her dark gaze unyielding from Cheryl’s own, she leaned in and brought her lips against Cheryl’s in a slow, deliberate kiss. Cheryl closed her eyes and shivered at the gentle contact, and another spike of longing ran through her.

“Again,” she said hoarsely, not opening her eyes, and Veronica obeyed, this time pressing a kiss to Cheryl’s jaw, and, without being asked, then to her neck.

“Wait,” Cheryl ordered her, her eyes snapping open. She straightened and then moved to adjust both herself and Veronica, pushing Veronica to rest against the chair’s cushioned back, and then laying her head on Veronica’s chest.

Automatically, Veronica brought up one arm to hold Cheryl against her, and her heart soared at how readily Veronica accepted her, never once shifting away or flinching backwards. She moved her other hand to stroke down Cheryl’s back, weaving her fingers through her hair and then bringing them down to trail along her spine. Then she began kissing her again, on her forehead, on her cheek, on her neck, and then just by her mouth, as close as she could get without directly kissing her lips.

Cheryl shivered, tingles bursting through her as Veronica covered her in kisses. She felt as though she was melting with the warmth surrounding her. The gentle, undemanding attention was more than she could ever want.

But too much had never been enough for Cheryl Blossom.

Rising from her position, Cheryl reached out to cup Veronica’s chin as Veronica stared at her wordlessly. Then, slowly and deliberately, Cheryl brought her head closer to press a soft kiss to her lips before pulling back slightly. 

“Okay?” she asked, running a thumb across Veronica’s lips, trying to disguise the fact that she was awaiting her response with bated breath.

Veronica smiled at her, and Cheryl swore it was the most genuine expression she’d ever seen cross anyone’s face. “Okay.”

She moved to kiss Cheryl on the lips again, and this time Cheryl couldn’t hold back her tears, Moisture ran down her cheeks, transferring onto Veronica’s skin and streaking down her face as if the tears were her own.

But Veronica didn’t seem to mind, instead just wrapping her arms around Cheryl in a tight embrace.

“I’m here, Cheryl,” she murmured into her ear. “I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit ideas or just talk Riverdale.


End file.
